


the love we found(we carry with us)

by loonyBibliophile



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Anti FP, Christmas, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Multi, Neutral on Gladys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 04:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16825381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonyBibliophile/pseuds/loonyBibliophile
Summary: Jughead Jones wasn’t overly fond of Christmas. He’d loved it, once upon a time, when he was young and oblivious to life’s foibles. But as he aged, as he moved through life, his family crumbled to pieces, and by the time he was fourteen and his mother was begging him to leave with her and his younger sister in the wee hours of the morning on a snowy December day, he’d started to resent the holiday. It was the same canned cheer and forced normalcy he felt around his birthday, but a hundred fold, because the entire fucking world was celebrating it.(A Bughead AU inspired by A Christmas Carol)





	the love we found(we carry with us)

Jughead Jones wasn’t overly fond of Christmas. He’d loved it, once upon a time, when he was young and oblivious to life’s foibles. But as he aged, as he moved through life, his family crumbled to pieces, and by the time he was fourteen and his mother was begging him to leave with her and his younger sister in the wee hours of the morning on a snowy December day, he’d started to resent the holiday. It was the same canned cheer and forced normalcy he felt around his birthday, but a hundred fold, because the entire fucking world was celebrating it. So as he walks home from work on Christmas Eve in the snow and slush, Jughead is not feeling especially festive. Mostly he just feels exhausted from another long night of bartending. 

FP Jones, Jughead’s father, had split town the day his kid turned eighteen and never looked back, leaving Jughead with an empty trailer, a rusted out truck, and a bar to run. Most of the other trailers in Sunnyside sported at least a strand of lights or a cheap plastic wreath, but the Jones trailer was entirely unadorned as Jughead wrenched the door open— the old hinges misbehaved in the cold— and kicked off his snow and dirt covered boots. He blinked, clearly snow from his eyes, the cold making him see things. He could have sworn he’d seen a bottle of his father’s favorite beer open on the table when he walked in, but now that he looked again, it was gone. 

Jughead was more than ready to ignore it all and go to bed. He tried to turn on the space heater, but it sputtered and smelled like burning plastic. 

“Extra blankets again it is.” he muttered to himself, grabbing a pile from the sofa and carrying it into the bedroom. 

From the empty turntable in the corner, he swore he heard strains of Elvis’ ‘Blue Christmas’ crackling from the speakers. While Jughead and his mom had always preferred the old school classics, like Cole and Sinatra, FP had always insisted they listen to Elvis and country, or no music at all. It was a compromise. Kind of. Shaking his head, Jughead cleared his thoughts of his father, and headed back out to the living room to do some reading before turning in. The cheap clock on the coffee table glowed a dull red, the time flashing steadily. 11:39PM. 

But Jughead never made it to the recliner, because when he turned towards it, he was startled by a shimmering apparition of FP Jones himself, sitting just the way he always did. Beer in hand, legs spread, elbows on his knees, scowl on his face. 

“What the fuck.” Jughead shouted. “No, absolutely not. This isn’t real. Ghosts make no sense, and also you aren’t even dead. Sweet Pea must have slipped something into my coffee, I am going to fire that—”

“Stop yammering, boy. You aren’t seeing things.” FP grumbled. Jughead just blinked, staring a the vision of his father “I’m not a ghost. I’m a vision. A warning.” FP nodded, and poured the beer down his throat. Another appeared in his hand from nowhere. 

“A warning? What the hell is this, Dickens? Are you here to tell me to support those less fortunate than me dad?” Jughead asked drily, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms. 

“No. I’m here to tell you don’t have to end up like your old man. Take a seat.” FP jerked a thumb towards the sofa, and Jughead stumbled over dumbly, blinking at his father. “You’ve given up, boy.” FP said simply. 

“On what? I work fifty hours a week taking care of _your_ bar dad. What part of that seems like giving up?” Jughead glared again, bitterness rising sharp and hot in his chest. 

“Yeah kid, _my_ bar. You’re settin’ yourself up to end up just like me. I ended up just like my old man, and you’re now fixin’ to do the same. But you don’t have to.” FP pointed at him ominously, and took another drink. Jughead made a face. 

“I’m hardly just like you, dad.” Jughead said with a sneer “I’m not a drunk, for one.”

“Not yet you ain’t. But that’s not what I’m supposed to be doing. I ain’t here to scare you, I’m just here to tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.” FP gestures to the empty trailer, clean bu disorganized, lifeless and cold. “You don’t have to be alone just because I was.” 

“Great, thanks for the advice pops.” Jughead’s voice dripped sarcasm. “I’m sure that will totally erase the generational trauma caused by the cycles of poverty and alcoholism and fix all my related abandonment issues. Now can you get out of our… my house?” Jughead rubbed his face in frustration, dragging his beanie off. 

“Oh, I’ll be going, boy. But other things will be coming. Three more visions, just like me. Although I think the hope is you’ll like them a little more than you do me. Listen to what they say, kid. You don’t have to fuck up like I did.” 

FP faded out of existence then, taking his beer bottles with him. Jughead’s head was pounding, and he decided to just write all of this off as some waking stress nightmare and go to bed. Unfortunately for Jughead’s bone deep exhaustion from a long day of work, he’d hardly changed into sweats and laid his hand on the pillow before he was being tugged from sleep by a hand pulling at the hem of his shirt. The sensation tickled the back of his mind with familiarity, only to suckerpunch him with it when he reluctantly opened his eyes. 

Jellybean. Not as she was now, a brooding teenager giving even young Jughead a run for his rebellious money, but as she was when they were kids. No more than probably six years old, wearing a red flannel nightgown that had once been a family friend’s. His eyes went wide and he reached out a cautious hand, touching the side of his younger sister’s face, but it phased right through her, the illusion of skin sparkling where his hand had brushed it. 

“Merry Christmas, big brother.” she said softly. 

“Hi, JB.” Jughead offered cautiously, sitting up a little. 

“Oh, come on.” Jellybean teased, smiling. “Play along, will you? Wish me a merry christmas. Call me Jellybelly, like you did when we were kids. That’s what I’m here to remind you of, after all.”

“What do you mean?” Jughead asked, finally rising out of bed. Jellybean wrapped her ghostly hand around his wrist, tugging him towards the door. As they walked, their surroundings swirled, until they were no longer in the trailer’s single bedroom, but Jughead’s childhood room, at the house on Elm Street, with the treehouse in the backyard Fred Andrews built.

“Just because our family fell apart doesn’t mean we were never happy, Jughead.” Jellybean says softly, and suddenly they’re descending the stairs, and below them is the living room of their childhood home, sparse but homey decorations and a scruffy but well lit tree covered in old heirloom and homemade ornaments. The sight pricks at Jughead’s chest, especially when he sees FP and Gladys, standing at the fireplace, rearranging half eaten cookies for Santa and making sure the stockings are where the kids left them the night before. 

“Do you remember what Christmas this is yet, big brother?” Jellybean said softly as she pulled them to the side, into the hallway. Moments later, a younger Jughead came running down the stairs, Jellybean on his tail, both laughing as they tried to beat the other to the tree. Jughead can tell now that this is Christmas the year he turned eight, the last year he believed in Santa Claus. Their first Christmas in a real house, having left the trailer behind a few months before. None of them knew then it was only temporary. That would make dream Jellybean four years old. Was she already that tall then? Had he really already forgotten so much about his childhood?

Jughead knows now that in one of those brown bag wrapped presents tied with tinsel is a copy of a book that will change his life forever. _James and the Giant Peach_ by Roald Dahl. The book that inspired his love of reading, and later writing, and doodling in the margins of his notes. The book that introduced him to his favorite childhood author. The book that made him a best friend, when a shy slip of a girl with blonde hair saw him reading on the bench and walked over to him, holding up a copy of _Matilda_ by way of greeting. 

“Yeah, I remember.” Jughead says to Jellybean, who squeezes his hand. He’s not sure why he can feel it, when he couldn’t touch her face, but that’s really the last of his problems right now as he watches his mom and dad interact with his younger self. His mom kisses the top of both their heads, and FP pulls one of them up in each arm, swinging them around until they’re both giggling and begging him to put them down. Then he and Jellybean look through their stockings while Gladys makes breakfast, and FP makes coffee and hot cocoa. Jughead sinks to the floor, his chest feeling heavy, and Jellybean follows him, putting her small hand on his knee. 

“How is this supposed to help?” Jughead asks, his voice cracking slightly “I lost this. How is remembering things used to be good supposed to make me feel better about a crappy present?”

“Because you have to, Jughead.” Jellybean says softly as Gladys and FP start passing presents around in a circle. “You have to remember things weren’t always miserable. We used to be a family. We used to love each other. Mom and dad used to love each other. People just get lost.” Jellybean squeezes her brother’s hand again. “I don’t want you to get lost, Jughead.” 

The scene before them fades, and a new one takes its place. Jughead knows this Christmas immediately. The last holiday in the Elm house, the last holiday where his family was even sort of whole. Both he and Jellybean were old enough now not to believe in Santa Claus. His parents were starting to fight all the time. He looks down at Jellybean strangely. 

“Then why are you showing me this?” Jughead asks, tilting his head at the scene before them. The decorations are up, but sparser than before, and instead of helping with the holiday prep, FP is snoozing on the couch. Gladys looks exhausted, but she still eats half the cookies for Santa, even though they don’t believe anymore. She still makes breakfast. She still smiles, kisses her children on the head. She wakes FP up and gives him a look but doesn’t start a fight as she presses a mug of black coffee into his hands. 

“That’s why.” Jellybean whispers, her face close to his ear. “Because she tried, even if she was already lost.”

The scene fades again, for good this time, until it’s just him and Jellybean, standing in the empty trailer. She looks around at the lack of decorations, not just for the holidays, but in general. The trailer contains precious few signs of life, and Jellybean gives a sigh far beyond the years she appears to have in this form. 

“You have to stop waiting, Jughead.” she whispers again, leaning up to kiss her brother on the cheek. “Merry Christmas. Get some sleep while you can. Your next visitor is lively.”

Jellybean vanished from sight, and Jughead woke with a start in his cold bed. He went out to get a drink of water, and the dull red clock read 1:15AM.

Once more, it felt like he’d hardly let his head touch the pillow when something jerked him awake. This time, instead of the small hand, it was a balled up sheet of printer paper. Then another. Then several more, until Jughead groaned and finally opened his eyes. There, in the doorway pelting him with paper balls, was Archie Andrews. The shimmering quality of dream ghostliness suited him, Jughead thought. He looked like an illustration in an art history book. 

“Up and at ‘em, Jug.” Archie said jovially, giving him a sloppy grin.

“And what are you here to do?” Jughead asked with a yawn, already pulling himself out of bed and resigning himself to this particular fate. 

“Show you that people care about you, even if you’re too much of a sullen asshole to realize it.” Archie elbowed Jughead in the ribs, just like he might have when they were teenagers, and the nostalgia that grips Jughead is painful in its intensity. When was the last time he went to see Archie and Fred? He hadn’t even made an appearance at the Andrews’ family Thanksgiving dinner that year, opting to tell them he had to work. Archie had been so excited when he texted him the invite too. Some new girl he was dating that he seemed pretty serious about was coming to town, and he wanted Jughead to meet her. 

“I’m a shitty friend.” Jughead said suddenly, apropos of nothing as Archie tried to push him out of the bedroom. 

“Yeah, sometimes.” Archie said affably “But we’re all shitty friends, sometimes. I was kind of an oblivious dick in high school, you’re kind of a sad asshole now. It evens out.” Archie shrugged. Jughead admired how simple Archie had always managed to make things sound. 

Archie leads him on a snowy, silent walk through town. Despite the chill in the air, Jughead feels no cold, nor any fatigue when they finally arrive, once again, to Elm Street. This time, however, the target is the Andrews house. The windows are warm and inviting, and Jughead forces himself to focus his attention there, no matter how badly he wants to peer into the windows of the house next door, to see if the fire is roaring or the tree lit in the house of his other once best friend. It didn’t matter. She never came home for Christmas. She never really came home at all. Jughead didn’t really blame her. 

“Come on. That’s later.” Archie said cryptically, and then proceeded to guide Jughead through the wall and into the Andrews’ living room. 

The living room was well lit and jovial. Archie was sitting in the arm chair, and a pretty girl with dark wavy hair wearing a set of pearls was perched on the arm, staring down at Archie adoringly. Jughead thought to himself that this must be the girl from Thanksgiving. Archie had called her ‘a vision in pearls’ once, a saying he’s sure the ginger must have picked up from Kevin Keller. Kevin is also at the house, sitting on the floor with one of Jughead’s waitstaff, a guy named Fangs who has his arm around Kevin’s shoulders. Tom Keller is there too, and Fred of course, and Mary is visiting from Chicago for the holiday with her new girlfriend. The atmosphere is warm and homey, and once again makes Jughead’s heart ache. 

“What’s he up to, anyway?” he hears Fred say suddenly, and Fangs answers from the floor. 

“Working, mostly. He closed the bar last night, I don’t think he left until almost midnight.”

Jughead realizes they’re talking about him, and he swallows heavily. 

“That kid works too much. He worked Thanksgiving too.” Fred shakes his head, taking a sip of coffee “You gotta get him over here, Arch. Tell him we miss him.”

“I’m trying dad.” Archie says with a laugh, reaching forward for a cinnamon roll on the table. “But you know how Jug is.”

“I worry about him.” Mary said quietly, sipping from her own mug “He’s so caught up in not wanting to turn into his father that he can’t see he’s nothing like him.”

“We all do.” Fred said, frowning slightly. “Say, the bar’s closed today, isn’t it?” he asks Fangs who nods in response.

“Yeah, he wanted to give all the staff the day off.”

“Maybe we should swing by the trailer later, Arch.” Fred says “Bring him some dinner, see how he’s doing.”

“We can try.” Archie says with a nod.

“If you go,” the woman sitting on Archie’s chair says “Bring me along? I want to meet your best friend, Archiekins.” she smiles sweetly, and Jughead can see Archie melting. 

“Of course, Ronnie.” 

“See?” Dream Archie says, nudging Jughead again “Even when you’re hiding out, we’re still thinking about you. We still care. We’re still your family.” 

When Archie says ‘family’ it’s like someone flipped a switch. The living room is one Jughead does not recognize, and it’s full of people he doesn’t recognize either, except for to of them. Gladys and Jellybean Jones. Gladys looks older, and more tired, but lighter than she had the last time Jughead saw her. Jellybean looks like Jellybean, seventeen and wearing dark eye makeup and trying to maintain a straight face while her eyes twinkle happily. Jughead thinks he can feel his heart breaking. 

“Are you sure we can’t try to call him this year?” Jellybean asks quietly, her eyes looking sad for a moment. Gladys smiles and shakes her head, squeezing her daughter’s arm. 

“I wish we could JB, but your father refused to give me his cell phone number, and the trailer’s landline got disconnected years ago.” 

“Why does dad get to decide whether we get to talk to him or not? It’s not like he’s ever around.” Jellybean crossed her arms, pouting, and a girl sitting next to her on the couch reached over and squeezed Jellybean’s knee with dark painted nails. 

“Life’s complicated, honeybee.” Gladys says sadly “I wish it wasn’t. I miss your brother too. Maybe after the new year we’ll see if we can’t find him, okay?”

“I’d like that.” Jellybean said with a nod. 

Jughead doesn’t say anything. He just watches the scene, silent tears pouring from his eyes. Archie puts a brotherly arm around his shoulders, patting his back. 

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.” Jughead says eventually, referring to his mother and sister’s conversation about him. 

“It’s not either of those things, Jug.” Archie says simply. “It’s just true.”

In true Archie fashion, Jughead can’t decide if that’s wise, or just complete nonsense. 

“We gotta head back now, brother.” Archie says quietly. “You’ve got one more stop tonight before the new day dawns.” 

Before he knows it, Jughead is back in the trailer, slumped in the recliner, exhaustion blurring the red of the clock before him. 2:49AM. He doesn’t bother to go back to bed this time, just pulls an old afghan from Goodwill off the couch and lets his eyes close right there on the recliner. 

This time, Jughead does not wake with a start. He comes to wakefulness slowly, gradually becoming aware that his trailer is filling with a warm, white light. Beside him, on the arm of the recliner, is a shape. He thinks it’s a blonde girl, but he’s not sure, the light she emits too bright to see her clearly. Something about her twinges the back of his mind, a familiarity he can’t place. She doesn’t speak, like the others did, she doesn’t call his name. She simply holds out her hand, and he takes it. Before his next breath even finishes, they’re in a house he doesn’t recognize. There’s a tree in front of a wide front window, glittering with lights and mismatched ornaments. A few catch his eye. Heirlooms he managed to save when his dad threw everything away; ornaments he remembers making at daycare with Jellybean when they were kids. 

“Does some version of me live here?” he asks softly. The glowing shape just gestures forward, saying nothing. 

There, on the sofa of this unfamiliar living room, is Jughead Jones. A few years older, but he knows himself when he sees himself. He’s wearing a red sweater and plaid pajama pants, and it’s shocking enough to present Jughead to see a silver band on his ring finger that he almost misses something even more shocking. On future Jughead’s lap is a baby, probably not even a year old, wearing a Grinch onesie. The baby has Jughead’s thick, dark hair, and a pair of big green eyes that tug on Jughead’s heart strings and memories with equal fervor. 

Jughead knows, without being told, that this is his child. His home. A future he could have, if he pulled his head out of his ass and stops being such a cynical Scrooge about everything in his life. The blonde angel beside him waves a hand, and the scene shifts. It’s the same house, the same Christmas day, but it’s afternoon, and Archie is there, and Fred, and the pretty dark haired girl from Archie’s living room. The baby is in a high chair. Jughead can hear a voice that nags at him the same way his child’s bright green eyes do, humming in the kitchen. The doorbell rings, and future Jughead answers the door, and Gladys and Jellybean walk through it, grinning, arms laden with food and presents. 

“So I could… have all this? I’m not too broken?” Jughead turns to the being beside him, and he can somehow sense that it’s smiling softly. Once more, his eyes are overrun with tears, and his chest aches. There’s no name for the complicated place he currently occupies between scared and hopeful, happy and sad. He wants this. He _wants_ this life, and it’s been so long since he wanted anything, he’d almost thought he’d forgotten how. 

The blonde angel whispers something in his ear as she cups his face, and the scene, along with her light, begins to fade away, leaving Jughead feeling heavy with exhaustion

_”It’s going to be alright.” ___

__Like the green eyes, like the humming, the angel’s voice stirs something in the back of his head, and for a moment, Jughead thinks he’s solved it, and then he’s home, on his recliner, fast asleep. The red clock blinks, sluggish and sleepy. 3:49AM._ _

__Once again, Jughead awakes with a start. He rubs his eyes, feeling disoriented, and looks at the clock on the table._ _

__10:15AM._ _

__He pulls his phone from the pocket of his sweats, squinting at the date._ _

__December 25th. Christmas morning._ _

__The banging that roused him from sleep returns, and Jughead realizes someone is knocking on his door. Still groggy, he pulls himself to his feet and shuffles over to the door, swinging it open. It creaks loudly, protesting the morning frost, and that’s the only noise the world seems to make for several long moments. Because when Jughead looks up, he suddenly knows exactly who the glowing angel in his dreams was meant to be, because standing before him— cheeks and nose flushed pink from the cold air, warm breath puffing out of shiny lips, hope in her big green eyes, just like always— is Betty Cooper. Her hair is down, not in the ponytail she always kept it in when they were kids, and she’s wearing stylish pajamas and has a canvas tote bag over each arm._ _

__“Hi.” she says, quietly, breaking the seemingly endless silence “I came over to make breakfast.”_ _

__“I’ll make coffee…” Jughead says, trailing off and moving out of the way. He isn’t entirely sure what else to do or say, so he decides to just go along with it for now._ _

__“Sorry to just drop in, but I came into town unexpectedly last night, and Archie told me you were living here alone, and well, I can’t let my best friend spend Christmas all by his lonesome, can I?” Betty says, cheerfully, but with a slight edge to her voice Jughead doesn’t remember from high school._ _

__“We haven’t seen each other in years, Betts.” Jughead says, keeping his voice soft. It’s an observation, not an indictment. Betty nods, shrugging and smiling sadly._ _

__“I know. But I’ve still always thought of you as one of my best friends, Juggie. A few years of missed holiday visits and birthday phone calls isn’t enough to scare off a Cooper, Jughead Jones.” Betty wags her finger at him, and Jughead’s heart skips a beat as she smiles at him before going to busy herself in the kitchen._ _

__“I thought maybe you’d stopped using your dad’s last name.” he offers. It’s half true and half an excuse for not looking for her._ _

__“I thought about it,” Betty said with a frown, cracking an egg one handed “But I decided I’d rather take it back.”_ _

__Back in high school, Betty’s father had been arrested for the attempted murder of Jason Blossom, Betty’s sister’s boyfriend, now husband. When Betty graduated Riverdale High, she left town and never seemed to look back, and Jughead had never once blamed her, often feeling stuck in the small town himself._ _

__“That’s a nice sentiment.” Jughead says softly._ _

__“I thought so.” Betty gives a nod, already shoving something into his oven, and turns to him with a smile. Her eyes are wide and soft and warm, and she holds her arms out to him. Jughead has never been overly affectionate, but growing up, Betty had been, and he’d adapted, growing to like the feeling of wrapping his slightly smaller blonde best friend into tight hugs. He returned the smile and made his way over, pulling her in closer. Unexpectedly, she buried her face in his chest, her hands fisting in the back of his sweater._ _

__“I really, really missed you.” she says quietly. Jughead flushes slightly, and pushes a strand of loose hair behind Betty’s ear._ _

__“I missed you too.” Jughead replies, tugging playfully on the lock of hair. Betty giggles._ _

__“I hope you don’t mind, but I kind of told Fred I would bring you by the house later. Archie’s new girlfriend is just dying to meet you, and Polly’s with me, and she’s pregnant, and Cheryl and Jason are both around too, and Jug, would you believe me if I told you Cheryl Blossom is married, and to none other than Toni Topaz?” Betty’s thoughts are a whirlwind, and Jughead’s eyes grow wide as she talks, catching on the last thing she says._ _

__“Woah, woah, woah.” he says with a laugh, shaking his hands to halt her “Cheryl and Toni Topaz? Cheryl Blossom? ‘Cherry Bombshell?’ Married?” Jughead looked down incredulous, and Betty’s eyes sparkled brightly._ _

__“I know, can you believe it? I got stuck spending Thanksgiving with the Blossoms, and honestly, the two of them seem really happy. I think it’s sweet.” Betty says with a sigh, returning to the kitchen to work on food._ _

__“So we’re going over to Fred and Archie’s?” Jughead asks, heading for the coffeemaker._ _

__“You’ll come?” Betty turns to him, grinning excitedly._ _

__“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to catch up with everyone anyway. I uh, had a dream recently and realized I’ve kind of been an asshole hermit lately and that maybe I should get out more.” Jughead said jokingly as he boiled water. While the coffee brewed, he went over to turn on the trailer’s old tv. He didn’t get a whole lot of cable channels, but he liked the droning white noise of the tv sometimes, so he kept up with the bills. He flicked through the channels, looking for something festive. One channel was playing the opening credits of _The Muppets Christmas Carol_ , so Jughead turned the volume up slightly. Betty smiled at him. _ _

__“I love this movie.” she said quietly, whisking up some eggs._ _

__“Yeah,” Jughead said, watching Rizzo the rat bite into an apple “Me too.”_ _

__It’s a little after twelve in the afternoon when Betty and Jughead decide to walk across town in the snow to Archie’s house. Betty had been dropped off by Polly, and wasn’t dressed to walk, so Jughead lends her one of his old sherpa jackets from high school, and they both bundle up, full of Betty’s lavish Christmas breakfast, and make their way slowly across Riverdale. They talk as they travel, drifting closer together in the snowy streets as they catch up on the last several years of their lives. Jughead looks down at her, once again flushed from the cold, and remembers the baby from his dream…. or vision, whatever that had been. With the dark hair, and the big green eyes, and the wide, toothless smile. He thinks about the familiar humming, and the bright angel’s soft whisper, and he reaches for Betty’s hand, lacing his fingers between hers. She doesn’t pull away, and she’s still holding his hand when she uses the other to ring the Andrews’ doorbell._ _

__They’re separated then, by a number of warm and enthusiastic greetings. Hugs, cheek and forehead kisses, Archie’s broad arms lifting both of them off the ground. There are the faces from Jughead’s dreams, and other faces too. Jason and Polly. Cheryl and Toni. Betty, standing beside him, radiant with warmth and Christmas cheer, already making fast friends with Archie’s girlfriend, who he now knows is called Veronica. She has her arms threaded around one of Jughead’s, leaning on him slightly. Archie is giving him a knowing smile, and he wants to pull his old friend aside and lecture him, because assuming Jughead still holds a torch for Betty Cooper, the childhood love of his life, is insulting, but Archie’s not actually _wrong_ so there’s not anything Jughead can actually do about it. _ _

__Betty doesn’t seem to mind though. She spends most of the afternoon glued to his side, preferring to stick nearby even as she catches up with old friends. The one time she leaves him alone, wandering off to help Fred with something in the kitchen, her sister sidles up to Jughead with a sly smile on her face._ _

__“Congratulations.” He says, nodding at Polly’s stomach. Polly beams, her face glowing with happiness._ _

__“Thanks, Jones.” she says playfully. Polly had always teased him a little easily able to tell the weird kid next door had a crush on her baby sister. “I’m glad she finally reached out to you. She’s wanted to ever since she left, but I think she was scared.” Polly offers, her voice thoughtful as she rests a hand on her stomach, looking off in the direction of the kitchen._ _

__“Scared?” Jughead asks, frowning. Of what, he thought to himself._ _

__“I think she thought you’d be mad at her. For leaving.” Polly said with a shrug. Jughead frowned again._ _

__“Why would I be mad about that? If anyone around here knew Betty was too good for Riverdale when we were growing up, it was me.” Jughead picked at the bread and cheese on the paper plate in his hand._ _

__“Not mad for leaving Riverdale, Jones. For leaving you behind. Didn’t you know it just about killed her to leave you here? I think she must have called me once a week for a full year to check on you, but she wouldn’t let me tell you. I swear, that girl’s the dumbest person I know about some things, and she graduated valedictorian.” Polly shook her head and wandered away at that, heading back to jason and leaving Jughead alone with his thoughts, his mind reeling._ _

__Jughead thinks back to high school, even middle school, and goes over what he can remember with a fine tooth comb. He focuses in on his memories about Betty— and there are a lot of them— and wonders if he was really so worried all those years about being good enough that he completely missed a crucial piece of the puzzle: Betty’s feelings. He thinks about all the high school dances she dragged him to, all the nights she came to see him working at the drive in, doing homework in the dim light of the projection booth until his shift was done, and then she’d let him give her a ride home. All the birthdays she carefully did not acknowledge, save for leaving a single, plain frosted cupcake on his desk every year._ _

__Feeling shell shocked, Jughead wanders off towards the only people he hasn’t greeted yet; Cheryl and Toni._ _

__“Merry Christmas, hobo.” Cheryl says when she sees him approach, but the old nickname is said playfully, not with the venom it held in high school. Toni smiles at him._ _

__“Hey Jones.” she says simply, offering a nod._ _

__“Merry Christmas,” Jughead offers, returning the nod. Then, after a pause “Was Betty in love with me?” he blurts out. Cheryl snorts._ _

__“Obviously, Jones.” she says drily, raising an eyebrow at him. “Did you just figure this out?”_ _

__“Even I knew the two of you were stupid into each other, and I went to a different school for two of our four years of high school, dude.” Toni said flatly._ _

__“Well, I’m a fucking idiot.” Jughead said simply, turning to walk towards the kitchen._ _

__“Not news.” Cheryl called playfully after him. He flipped her off._ _

__When Jughead reaches the kitchen, Betty is standing in the doorway, heading back to the main room. She smiles at him warmly._ _

__“Hey Jug,” she starts to say, before Fred’s voice behind her interrupts._ _

__“Well, would you look at that.” Fred says, his voice smug. Jughead looks at him, then looks up, where Fred is looking. In the archway from the kitchen to the hall is a single sprig of mistletoe. “I wonder how that got there…” Fred adds, in a voice that seems to imply, to Jughead anyway, that this is the entire reason the older man called Betty into the kitchen in the first place._ _

__“Well, it is tradition.” Betty says, her voice light, her eyes hopeful. Jughead smirks, stepping closer to her._ _

__“It would be a shame to break tradition.” he says with a nod, his voice low. Then he puts a hand on her chin and tilts her face up to his, pulling her close as he kisses her. Her hands slide up his back and into his hair, and she sighs as she relaxes into him, and he can feel her lips smiling into the kiss. Archie had wandered over at some point, and wolf whistles at them loudly, grinning. Jughead lifts his face to glare at him, arms still wrapped around Betty._ _

__“Would you two like to stay for Christmas dinner?” Fred asks, smiling at the two, still wound together in the doorway._ _

__“I think that sounds lovely, Fred. Don’t you, Juggie?” Betty smiled up at him, leaning her chin on his chest._ _

__“Yeah, Betts. I do.” he says with a grin, and then kisses her again, lifting her up off the ground and swinging her around playfully. She squeals and giggles and flushes bright red, and Jughead thinks the pink of her cheeks might be his new favorite color, and that Christmas just might be his new favorite holiday._ _

**Author's Note:**

> this idea hit me out of nowhere and i just had to get it down. shout out to everyone in the bughead family discord who sprinted with me for like three straight hours. hope yall enjoy! find me on tumblr at elizabethbettscooper


End file.
